


Wasteland State of Mind

by SluttyHaruka



Category: Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: Bondage, Doggy Style, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Femdom, Foot Jobs, Gags, Maledom, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Sexual Slavery, Trans Character, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SluttyHaruka/pseuds/SluttyHaruka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>China is struggling to maintain her position of influence in her home vault while Ruby, who had previously been kicked out, experiences the perilous, sexual chaos of the Wasteland. Aesthetic inspired by Shadman's Vault Meat stuff.</p><p>This series will be updated every Tuesday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude (Ruby)

The world had gone dark. Any sense of rigid moralism guiding the actions of the many and the individual had long since dissolved in favor of zealous survivalism, but, more specifically, her eyes had been covered by an old world sleeping mask. Though black, the thing had initially seemed frilly, silly. Having it on her head now, she found it surprisingly effective. She couldn't see a damn thing, not in a direct way and not in the indirect way one can see through a thin layer of cloth.

Not that she could communicate that with the bit between her teeth. They were particularly rough snapping the fucker into place; she had felt one of her blue locks of hair get caught in the mechanism. It still yanked on her scalp each time she flinched, her vocalizations of her irritation coming through in sharp, breathy blasts of spit. And she didn't have much breath to spare.

The leather harness squeezing her tits and ass cheeks together constricted her ribs, making her breaths shallow. She was sure that she probably looked quite fuckable at the moment, but it was difficult to think beyond her own discomfort. On the other hand though, at least she wasn’t hanging by her bound wrists this time. Sure, both of her arms were tied up in an armbinder behind her back and it hurt like fucking hell, but, in the Wasteland, you had to take what you could get.

And what you could get was often ball burning heat and an abundance of raiders with fucked up attitudes. She had found a lot of both, lately. Oh, well. At least they knew how to treat a lady (of the enslaved persuasion).

Yes, Ruby may have been sweating her balls off, and out of every other pore in her body, but goddamn if she didn't get shown a good time for all her troubles. Their filthy, musky smells and their wet fap - fap - faps sent all the blood flowing to her loins. Her prick lurched, pre cum flowing from her tip like a cunt’s lubrication, bulbous head swelling and balls tightening.

She purred, or something resembling it closely enough, feeling so aroused with hardly having been touched at all. Just being looked at could make her so fucking horny. She would give anything for a meaty dick inside her ring or a ring on her meaty dick, or _both_. Drool spilled over her plump lips, running down her chin. 

She did her best to swivel her hips, desperate to invite any takers. Surely one of these fun-loving fiends had a special something they wanted to share with her, or force on/in her, whatever made them feel manly and shit. Just as long as they got a move on, she didn't care how they wanted to think of it in their own heads. It was all the same to her, anyways.

Sweat dripping down the curves of her bosom and between the crack of her ass, she moaned for them. After some loud shuffling and scraping across the old world facility floor, she felt the heat of several raider breaths on her skin. Before she had time to feel victorious, a particularly turgid cock poked her in her right ass cheek, rubbing this way and that along the slope of it. A surprised squeak had barely left her mouth when she felt another prodding her breast, the owner of the cock apparently very amused by the act of pushing his crown against her areola.

Her legs became shaky as more cocks made use of her bare skin with her armpits, neck, waist and forehead getting similar treatments. A sigh of contentment pushed against her harness, the pain of which was easily ignored. All around her, on her was gross, oily man stench and it had her so close to her first climax. She knew she probably looked like a disgusting pig with all their disgusting cocks rubbing over her and nothing could be hotter.

There was more shuffling in front of her and she began to hear loud, continuous mewling. The voice was clearly feminine, although the abundance of man scent burning her nostrils made that fact difficult for Ruby to discern at first. As the noises neared her, though, she could tell that they were not coming from eye level, but from below her. Feeling the body heat of the woman just before her, Ruby could tell that she was on her hands and knees and probably bound similarly to herself. She could also now hear the buzzing of the woman’s high powered vibrator.

Some of the cocks left her body and returned to being stroked by their owners, making her whimper in frustration. The ones behind her began slapping her ass _hard_. And then there was a hand in her hair, pulling it backward, making her wince again. A gruff voice whispered in her ear words she had heard a dozen times already and yet it still made her hard enough cut a rock with her dick hearing it again.

Slowly, the woman in front of her backed up, or was backed up, onto Ruby’s stiff cock. The woman’s petals spread around Ruby’s tip, smoothly taking her in and constricting around her rhythmically. Ruby recognized the cunt and she was sure the woman recognized her dick. With their mouths stuffed with their gags, the two women purred and moaned and mewled together the best they could as the woman thrust herself back against Ruby’s pelvis. Their bodies connected in wet slaps that quickly reddened their skin and gave their aches for each other that little more edge.

Ruby wanted so bad to be able thrust into the pussy before her, digging her nails into the apple-shaped mocha ass that belonged to its owner, but knew she had to settle for being an inactive participant in the fucking. Maybe, if they put on a good show, their masters would let them spend time together that night, uninhibited by bondage. It was unlikely, though, as these masters so enjoyed teasing them. No, she would have to appreciate this gift that had presented to her as her masters’ own deviant desires and let them believe that was what it was. There was no sense in giving them reason become bored with their new fetish. ...The Wasteland could be such a cruel place. 

On the bright side, she still got to fuck China either way.


	2. Prelude (China)

“How did I get here?” China whimpered.

“This is your life now.” The high-heeled blonde sporting a studded leather bustier forced the ball of faded red between her teeth and hooked the strap into place. “That was the last time I will use my lips to tell you.” A slap across the gagged girl’s supple cheek punctuated the statement.

The blonde, whose thin hair was tied up into into a tight bun, crossed the musty office to a splintered cabinet to rifle through the drawers. With her back turned to her charge, she bent over to search the lower ones, giving said charge a clear view of the buzzing egg lodged in her bare cunt. Amongst the raiders, there were only five females (four of whom slaves), and of the five, the old vibrator alternated between the three vaginas daily. At least, that was the intended order of operations. Since her capture, China was ‘gifted’ with it twice as often as either of the other females.

Though, from what she had seen of the collection of lewd objects used on the anuses of the two girls who didn't have vaginas, the brunette was glad to have not been born with a penis. Between the increased risk of simply being shot dead and having foreign objects being forced up the posterior, having a ‘sword’ was more of a liability than a blessing. Unless one were strong enough to cheat death at every turn (and how could anyone be), there was no getting around the amplified danger of masculinity. And there was no fate worse than death; anything else could be dealt with. Corpses could not be fixed (something the remnants of Tenpenny in their cause to rid the Wasteland of the remaining ghouls seemed completely oblivious of) so staying alive was paramount.

Having a chalice between one's legs went a long way toward securing immunity from death. That immunity was a hot commodity. Anything could be fixed while the infringed upon party was still alive, if they were still alive. Slavery was just an obstacle to overcome, if a substantial obstacle. Still, that didn't make living with the reality of enslavement any easier, not with individuals like Clair. 

“You should consider yourself lucky our Masters don’t desire anything more extreme out of you than fucking your sister,” Clair said as she slammed the top drawer shut and sauntered back over to China. Her feminine fluids coated her thighs and bush, her scent invading the nostrils of the bound girl. The blonde pressed her body to hers, the metal studs populating the breast cups of her bustier impressing upon the girl’s hefty teats. “And don’t feign revulsion with me. I can see the way you light up when she is inside you.”

China certainly blushed, but, even if the accusation were true, she couldn't openly admit it with the gag between her teeth or in the company of Clair. She simply averted her eyes toward Gerald as he approached. The repurposed Mister Handy warmly greeted the two slaves and asked what services they would require today. A flash of mischief crossed the blondes eyes as she eyed the phallic ends of his arm motors and let his inquiry remain unanswered for a moment, causing China to groan. To be so flagrant about one's own and others' perverse activities exhibited little class and the girl could not be more pleased with herself.

“Thank you, fine sir.” She curtsied, the buzz intensifying as her thighs met. She shivered. “Nothing too spectacular today, Gerald. I just need your assistance transporting our newest member to the factory floor.” A sneer curled her crimson lips as she added, “it’s her shift.”

“Then we shan't delay! The early bird gets the worm.”

One of Gerald’s arm extensions split into a clamp that seized the leather strap of binding running along China’s back while Clair hooked a hand over the width of her forearm, giving the steel cuffs a fierce tug. The girl howled through the ball obstructing her mouth, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. The haughty blonde’s sneer grew even more pronounced.

“And we also have to deliver this important package to the Masters.” She held up a thick, spined dildo that she had found during her search through the drawers. “They have need to make use of it.”

With the brunette in tow, the two descended the flight of stairs at the entrance of the office and traversed the set of defunct assembly line into the connecting chamber. The colossal room had been stripped of all movable machinery and was occupied by the bulk of the raider group, cocks out and mostly on the mocha skinned sister of the girl. Like China, she was fitted into an open leather harness that constricted her breathing and her arms were bound behind her back. In Ruby’s case, there was the addition of a blindfold, presumably so that the vaginal folds that were about to envelope her cock would be a ‘surprise’.

As some of the raiders dispersed around the room upon their approach, Gerald relinquished his hold on China’s harness and whirred his way over to the Head Master with the procured dildo in his possession. The girl had little time to examine the perverse scene occurring in front of her before it wasn’t anymore, Clair having turned her around. The blonde slowly guided her backward, bringing her to her knees just a short distance from the waiting blue haired girl.

“Go ahead and enjoy yourself.” She whispered in the brunette’s ear, slipping a finger into her folds. “Make it good for her. Or I might be forced to do so in your place.”

She smiled as worry twisted China’s features. Seizing her by her hair, Clair forced her back the rest of the way. Her eyes widened as she was compelled to take that overwhelmingly thick cock into her, vaginal walls spasming just from mere contact. Above her, she heard the exclamatory sigh of her sister, the girl already knowing which of the slaves was parted around her crown. Ruby’s moans grew needy, hungry the further inside she was allowed in China, despite the deliberate pace all but depriving her of satisfaction.

The truth was that, while nothing was worse than death, China did not share her sister’s casual enthusiasm for the joining of their bodies, not in private and especially not before a crowd of loathsome people. Sure, on a carnal level it worked her to completion in a mind-breakingly pleasurable way, but it couldn’t distract from the fact that she was still being silenced. Ruby’s complicity in it as long as she got to plough her fields made her an adversary to be dealt with just like the rest. China’s body could betray her all day and all night, but her mind refused to be locked into these circumstances forever.


	3. Caramel Topping (Ruby)

2279, The Mojave

The evening sun was a dull blaze, hot enough to bake the sand beneath her knees and make her smooth skin moist to his touch, but cool enough that he felt comfortable remaining in his chest plate and shin guards. The weathered metal caught the burning giant's rays intermittently, flashing her eyes with just enough intensity to make her blink. They began to water, although, given the grin on his face, he likely believed the source of her discomfort was his endowment. He likely believed his genitals were uniquely impressive. It was a damn good thing he could not read her mind, lest he learn how fucking wrong that was. It wasn't as if it mattered, though, as such arrogance did tend to work in her favor. He could make her throat _click, click, click_ all he wanted, as fast and hard as he wanted and believe he was pushing her limits while she gagged up copious spittle onto his rod.

He was so casual about it, however, which tickled her nerves. His expansively tattooed and scarred arms rested on their elbows as he casually pushed her down and up and down his length by the back of her head. The heat, while relatively easy on her body, was brutal on her hair and had been since she had first entered the desert. Once flowing, wavy locks were now stringy and greasy. The wisps of her formerly luscious mane felt sickly each time a gust of wind brushed them along her scalp and that was with her having cut it. The rich brown hue had changed as well, but, again, he seemed to only see what he desired to.

“It is criminal how good you are, Caramel,” he said as he took her to the hilt, provoking an involuntary cough. A gush of spittle ringed around his base. “Such a smooth throatjob.”

His slobbered cock was so pale, flushed red as it disappeared between her juicy lips. She wondered how many black guys were out there in the Wasteland. So far, it had mostly been white boys that she had... encountered. Not that she wanted to complain - the attention was welcome. It was just strange how similar the Wasteland was to her old Vault: some of this, some of that and a whole lot of one thing in particular. Differences sure did draw certain kinds of attention.

It created a tightening in her trousers each time a white cannon was laid bare for her to clean. Sometimes, like now, she was bid to so sloppily with her mouth; others with her firm, knowledgeable stroke and others still with her creamy ass spread for ploughing. Though not a foreign concept to her, it was a particularly interesting form of currency and made it possible to avoid some confrontations she doubted she could survive. Fighting wasn't always the best way, especially given that letting someone else take control for a while was so thrilling. 

And it also meant a break from having to make tough decisions, of which there were plenty in the Mojave. Getting on her knees regularly for Master and his audience and taking the occasional strike to the face was worth relief from that state of mind. It wasn't as if all the fucking made her stupid. Even in her cock-hungry, submissive state, she paid attention to the rumors of encroachment upon the land by big powers to the East and West. She knew the time would come again when she would have to rely on her own strength and wits. Performing for said Master and audience was fun, but not addictive.

The audience this time was another mercenary, his associate whom she knew little about. Truth be told, she was only just beginning to learn Master’s grooves and pleasure points so it didn’t distress her much. Sure, he had his pants zipped with his seemingly flaccid member tucked inside as he leaned against one of the gutted walls of the gas station, autorifle under his arm. Perhaps he was more focused on keeping an eye out for raiders or Khans, but it was odd that such a deprived man wouldn't find her arousing enough to be distracting. Then again, the stench that was burning her senses may have been killing his appetite. Pastel green paint eroded by time into a lifeless color, the structure had been overtaken by mold and possibly the remains of carcasses. The odor was pervasive enough that Master’s musk didn't mask it, slobbered in her saliva though his cock was.

She tried to focus on the sensations tied to having this man thrust into her throat, yielding herself to him and supplying ample amounts of fluid to satisfy his thirst for a messy deepthroating. His shaft was indeed pretty unimpressive, thinner and longer than she generally liked, and he let his bushy pubes grow out so that they hindered her ability to breathe or perform her duties without getting stray hairs sucked up into her mouth, but sometimes an lackluster cock made for more stimulating sex. Having to work for her own nut while feeling annoyed by a lover’s uninspiring offering engaged her more than getting bent over to take a mercilessly thick dick.

He grunted as he stroked her grimy forehead, she having swirled her tongue across his sweet spot several times. She spread her legs and sat up straighter, placing her hands on his knees for increased range of movement. Taking the hint that she was done with foreplay, he gripped her hair and fucked his cock with her skull, grinding her nose into his pubis. She made heaving, strained sounds, making both of them that much harder. She could feel her crotch dampen with the onset of her orgasm, squeezing him to communicate it as her oral fuckhole moaned and groaned incoherently.

“Hnnng, such a damn good fuckslut.” He began thrusting up into her as he continued slam her face into his pelvis. She could feel his rapid pulse on her tongue. “Cum for me.” 

Their movement rattled the portable chair, his monstrosity of a weapon falling to the ground with a thunderous clatter. In a motion, the other mercenary moved from his spot to the rifle, only to have his hand blocked by Master’s foot. He glared at the man, continuing to work himself to completion, silent except for his ragged breathing. Though her pent up load creamed her undergarments and her vision was blurred with tears, she noticed the tense change in mood. He pinned her face to his lap, firing his cumshot down her throat. His ejaculation was predictably small, given the amount of fun they had been having on a daily basis, but she still got a significant dose of the tasty stuff. 

Eagerly swallowing it down, she met no resistance as she retreated from his cock. His attention had already shifted entirely to his prized possession. Something deep down began gnawing at her as she watched Master strap the weapon over his arm with a snarl on his face. The other mercenary remained there for a moment, equally disgruntled, but made no more of it. He stalked off, disappearing into the gas station. 

Master hastily tucked his wet member into his pants, standing up. She jumped back to get out of his way. “Put on a change of clothes. Can't have your whorish scent stinking up the caravan.”

She sighed, her orgasmic high deflating. “Right”

“What?” He snapped, glaring at her now.

“Uh..., I thought you were going to cum on my face.” She felt small, silly for indulging in the idea of pleasure. 

Under the mat of salt and pepper hair, his temple pulsed with the clenching of his. When he spoke, it was with further emphasis. “Fun time is over, boy. Not everything can go your way. Hurry up and do as you were told. And feed the Brahmin while you are at it.”

 _Boy_ , she mouthed when he turned around, storming away in the opposite direction of the cattle. Yet again, he was wandering off to work out his turbulent anger before they continued on. Sobered by her sexual release, irritation set in as she stood, one of the few moments of serenity undermined by over reactive behavior. Setting out to complete the tasks she was bidden to do, she re-evaluated her nebulous position on the need take back control of her life.


	4. Heel of the Mountain (Ruby)

A muted sigh escaped her lips as she winced, her chest feeling tighter than usual. For the thirtieth time that day, she peaked under the collar of her shirt and saw no blood. Hell, the bruise may have been long, but it wasn't even that discolored. It provided quite a fucking wake up call, though, that was for sure. 

Her gaze drifted to the moonless sky, the gulf of glittering stars appearing much larger than she had ever seen it. Her hands cautiously moved from her chest, across the dirt, trying to find something to hold onto. Her head throbbed. The way the pass opened up into that void made her feel as if she could fall into it any moment. 

And what would hold her to the dirt? Logic? Reason? Physics? Given the events of the day, she was inclined to believe they didn't factor into the equation anymore.

They had encountered an old friend of Mr. Talkative near the mouth of the canyon: a pretty, little blonde deadshot lugging around several Brahmin worth of munitions and water. She was not shy by any standards, and even got him to say more than the scant few words Caramel had heard out of him since he joined their group. While this woman could certainly handle herself, she welcomed the friendly company as she had apparently been wandering the area alone for days. 

She explained that she was hunting a rare Gecko, one that she claimed had several times the harvestable meat of a regular Gecko and that it was of a higher quality that would take longer to spoil. She intended to capture it and keep it alive long enough to reach Freeside in New Vegas to sell off its meat in addition to some of her excess goods.

Caramel knew she was full of shit and perhaps the others did too, but they combined forces anyway, steering off their set path and into the canyon. She fumed, though she knew to keep her mouth shut. The blonde’s presence added another obstacle between her and freedom and, as if to rub it in, the woman hung around her as the traveled. There wasn't any actual reason to it that Caramel could parse out. When she spoke, it wasn't to her - it was with the Chatty Cathy of their group. And, given that she was the one supposedly able to track the damn cryptid, she should have been leading them.

She just walked directly in front of Caramel with an exaggerated spring to her step. Maybe her intention was to distract the Brahmin herder with the movement of her tight legs and firm buttocks, because, if that was the goal, she succeeded. Cock engorged and yearning for contact with those round cheeks, clothed or not, Caramel wasn't paying attention when it happened. Under normal circumstances, that would be a death sentence, but, that day, the unnatural was out in full force.

The Brahmin panicked as a massive claw closed around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides. Lifting her off the ground, it squeezed, choking the air of her lungs. Her comrades fired upon the full grown Deathclaw wildly, several shots whizzing past her head and one slicing open her cheek. Two particularly bad shots hit her right in gut, or, rather, she felt them in her gut. The creature howled, its claw recoiling as it released its hold on her.

Caramel screamed as she flew through air, falling head first to a boulder and colliding with it on her side. She heard and felt the crunching of her ribs. As she wheezed, breathless, she had a glimpse of the blonde’s head popping off her body in a burst of blood, the Deathclaw having swiped at her. Landing hard on the dirt, she heard the screams accompanying the arrival of a second creature. Her moment having finally arrived, she wanted to run, had to run, but she was too weak to do so.

An hour later, she was found by the mercs, both very much intact, albeit bloodied. She learned as they hoisted her up that only one Brahmin remained, their supplies all gone. They explained that the water had been lost in an explosion of cattle parts as the creatures slaughtered the ones that didn't succeed in fleeing. From there, blame was slung around, resulting in the rest of the day being spent in almost total silence. The two, however, decided that it was worth it to continue chasing the farce while she was drug along by the weary Brahmin, nursing her wounds. Only once they recognized that the trail was bringing them deeper into Deathclaw territory did they relent and turn back, the atmosphere between them tense.

Camp was made in the canyon, not very far from the encounter. Caramel felt like she could still smell the rotten, coppery stench of what was left of the fine assed deceiver and it made her stomach turn. Though Karma was not a foreign concept in the Wasteland, it didn't feel like any sort of cosmic or moral reparation and they were certainly worse off for having met the woman. And staying in the canyon any longer could only lead to more misfortune. 

Bringing her hands back to her sides and digging her palms into the ground, she pushed herself toward the abyss. Remaining tethered to the desert floor for the time being, she settled into a crouch, unwilling to risk standing upright. Her entire torso ached and burned, stuff shifting around as she moved. She was no physician, but she knew that meant nothing good. However, that was just something she would have to sort out once the immediate obstacles were dealt with. 

On the over side of the camp fire lay Master, sleeping soundly on his bedroll. Resting against a rock to his right was his prized rifle, distant enough to be an invitation, but too close to be one safely accepted. Between them were the Brahmin to the left and Mr. Talkative to the right, both visibly unconscious. Despite the obvious baiting, she knew she could no longer afford to stall. Wincing, she took the right path.

Each step was painful, leaving her needing to cry out, but the more she closed the distance to her objective, the harder she pushed herself to stifle that impulse. She had to power through it until she couldn't hold it in any more. Her whimpers rang out in the quiet space like gunshots. Eyes tearing up, her foot landed just shy of the other merc’s face. She paused, her pulse thundering in her head and perspiration beading on her skin.

With a cough, he shifted, scrunching his nose before turning to his other side. Her exhale was shaky and she dabbed at her eyes, continuing on towards Master. Slowly shuffling alongside his body, Caramel was certain he would hear her heart pounding it's way out of her chest, feel her sweat drip onto his skin. There was no other way, she had to reach over him. The ache worsened as she leaned toward the weapon, her whimpers becoming more pronounced, her ability to suppress them slackening.

A hand seized her wrist, two narrowed eyes staring up at her. Her heart stopped, body seizing up as her mouth hung agape. It was over, it was all over. After such a bullshit day, she was going to die in such a fucking undignified way. How could this fucking happen? She didn’t come all this way for this.

“Caught me,” she whispered, smirking. “I’m in trouble now. How shall I be punished, Master?”

His eyebrow raised as he studied her, his hold on her slackening. He rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Foolish to test my patience like this, boy. I am too exhausted to dish out proper punishment for your actions now. I will figure out what to do with you-”

Fucking _boy_ again! She put a finger to his lips. “Well, seeing as you are too tired, allow me to begin making it up to you.”

Slipping her arm free of his grasp, she touched his chest, caressing it as she moved her other hand to his zipper. Biting her tongue to stifle her pained sounds, she liberated his semi-flaccid cock from its confines. Giving it a quick squeeze, she let it flop onto his pubis and scooted herself away from him, leaning back on her arms. His look of confusion was fast broken by realizing as she removed her shoes and wiggled her toes.

“Bit fast, isn't it?”

She hushed him. “It would hardly be fun if I worked off the whole punishment tonight.”

“Don't worry, that is impossible.” 

He inhaled deeply as her sole stroked his inner thigh, her other foot connecting with his velvety skin, flexing against it. She continued to let her right foot explore his unarmored limbs while her left foot undulated against him. She caught him between her toes and stroked his tip while she dug her heel into his scrotum. He jerked, clenching his fists.

“How impossible?” She giggled, moving a hand to her mouth to silence herself as she remembered the necessity to not rouse the other merc.

He leered at her. “Such a fucking horny slut. Work those pretty feet.” 

With lidded eyes, she took his stiffening member between both of her soles, grinding into his heavy ball sack and and massaging him with her tiny digits. His breathing turned staccato, no more capable of taking her wiggly-toed assault than he had ever been. It actually made her a bit mournful to remember how they met: her lounging on her side with a studded collar around her neck and her oiled body bared for customers and he slipping his unsolicited member between their soft arches, working himself to a hard orgasm before ‘liberating’ her from that predicament. ...then again, perhaps it was fitting that it would turn out this way.

Just like that day, it didn’t take long. She must have improved her technique in her personal time more than she thought, because her feet were blistered and bruised from their time wandering about and yet he still released like a geyser as she dug her heels in, showering her legs and everything else in a wide radius with globs of cum. Had she been of different mind, she might have counted the number the shots and marvelled at the volume, but her patience for such had passed.

She was careful to go about the next steps at a leisurely pace, lulling him back into a restful state, aided by the powerful effects of climax. Crawling back towards him, she wrapped her fingers around his cock and milked the rest of his spunk out between her parted lips, giving him a few throating hilts into her mouth. Her tongue lazily moved about it, drawing out the desired soft sighs as exhaustion took him. With him clean, she replaced him into his trousers and quietly zipped him back up.

Every muscle in her body screamed as she hovered over him, but she fought to hold herself up, giving him a goodnight kiss. He smacked his lips, yawning. When he looked up at her, she could see the sleepiness in his eyes. He was actually somewhat adorable in that moment, pity.

“Enjoy yourself, Master,” she whispered.

“Mmm, I did. Go back to bed, Caramel. We’ll need our strength for tomorrow.”

He watched her as she complied with his wish, wiping her legs off as she went. It took significant willpower not to stumble, but by the time she reached the shifting Brahmin and turned around, he was out again. Her pleasant facade dropped and she silently expressed her agony, her face contorting and tears flowing from her eyes. She mouthed a curse, nursing her sides and struggling to get her ragged breathing back under her control. She remained there for several moments, the Brahmin beginning to get discomforted by her lingering presence.

Pushing forward, she continued on towards the rifle, this time heading directly to it. She felt less anxious than she had before, now fairly certain that Master wouldn’t snap awake to see her hanging around something she shouldn't. _This_ was her chance. Her feet moved more nimbly, the desire to be free motivating her more than her pain could inhibit her. She closed the distance quite quickly and with minimal noise. Taking the monstrosity of a gun into her grip, she carefully armed herself, her finger ready to pull the trigger. Exhaling, she turned to face her sleeping Master one last time.

On the other side of the fire, Mr. Talkative had his head turned in her direction, his gaze betraying no drowsiness. She could hear her heart beat against her skull, feeling herself become untethered to the Earth below her. As she brought her finger to her lips in a panic, his mouth opened and the muzzle of his weapon turned towards her.


End file.
